


Beginners

by Casualmatch



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, andrew is gay and annoying and we love him for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 03:17:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19309528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casualmatch/pseuds/Casualmatch
Summary: Andrew's never been kissed. Warren's willing to teach. Sort of.





	Beginners

**Author's Note:**

> i love my gay, annoying son
> 
> warren is a dick but i refuse to believe there weren't feelings there, at least on andrew's end

Warren wasn’t used to having friends. He’d always run outside the pack- by his own choice, he’d swear up and down. Sure, he’d once been an outcast, but now he was a loner, a renegade too complex for the average Sunnydale neanderthal to comprehend. He sat by himself at lunch because there just wasn’t anyone cool enough to join him.

Until him and Jonathan paired up in chemistry, sophomore year. Jonathan wasn’t cool, exactly, but he got all the geeky references Warren generally banned himself from making, and he even made some back. He was far from the mysterious, quiet Kirk that Warren had always imagined accompanying his Spock, but Jonathan was there and he listened and, if even if Warren was loathe to admit it, he was tired of being alone. And thus, the duo was born, forged through Star Wars marathons and all-night study session. Warren’s sense of himself as a Bond-esque hero-in-waiting was only strengthened by gaining a _subordinate_ , as he soon settled on calling Jonathan.

Andrew’s addition to their group had been, on Warren’s part, far more reluctant. He was the sole sophomore in AP calculus, and that stung Warren’s pride, just a bit. Jonathan, Willow Rosenberg and him were the only juniors in the class, and he’d been proud of that fact. Warren saw the three of them as an intellectual force to be reckoned with, one he might even manage to swing into a date with Rosenberg. But when he entered on the first day, there was Andrew, who’d managed to out-math them all. He somehow had the cranial space for both computer skills rivaling even Rosenberg’s and every line of dialogue in _Red Dwarf_. Warren, who was on the brink of convincing Katrina to go to homecoming with him, had once seen himself as the most successful nerd in Sunnydale, the first crossover hit in geek history, but Andrew forced him to wonder if he even deserved the title of smart. His pride stung, Warren refused to consider Andrew an equal on any level except intellectual, and even that was begrudging. 

Jonathan, however, had no such notions. While Warren had adapted to their subterranean social status by adopting a loner-archetype personality and insisting he was secretly super cool and one day everyone would know it, Jonathan had come close to shutting down entirely. He rarely spoke to anyone besides Warren, and when he did he kept it business-only: notes, homework, programming tips. He preferred to make as few waves as possible, and sometimes Warren wondered if they were less Sherlock and Holmes and more R2-D2 and C3PO. 

But while Warren and Jonathan had adapted to the food chain, Andrew had stayed Andrew. He’d prattle on about whatever nerdy franchise he was currently obsessed with to just about anyone, not giving a thought to the potential social repercussions. And yet, somehow he seemed to earn far less backlash than Warren and Jonathan ever had. Part of it was Tucker. He had enough clout that most people avoided giving his younger brother a hard time, if only because of the rumors that he was the reason behind some of the supernatural voodoo that Buffy Summers was always saving them from. But the bigger part was that Andrew simply didn’t _care_. He didn’t care about the sneers or the looks or the not-so-subtle remarks. In fact, he seemed not to notice at all. Bored by his non-response, the bullies just moved on. 

Warren hadn’t wanted his solo show to become a duo, and he sure as hell didn’t want it to wind up a trio. He was like Batman- his work was too important, too insular, for others to appreciate, much less participate in. 

But even Warren was powerless to prevent the inevitable. No matter how much he cut Andrew off in class or made not-so-subtle hints to Jonathan, the two just kept bonding. One day, Jonathan even blew off studying to catch a Star Trek marathon with Andrew. 

Warren realized he was faced with two options: adaptation or abandonment. Slowly, sulkily, he chose adaptation, and Warren’s dreams of imminent badassery slowly crumbled until he found himself in his basement, playing dungeons and dragons with Sunnydale’s two biggest dorks. 

He’d given up the game freshman year, convinced it didn’t jive with his newly-developed renegade image. And when Jonathan had pulled the box out from his backpack, he’d been fully prepared to reject it, maybe do a bit of belittling, and move on.

But Andrew had practically been buzzing with excitement, his wide eyes seemingly impossibly wider, and Warren just hadn’t had the heart. The revelation shocked him. He’d never had a problem putting Jonathan’s interests down before, if they happened not to align with his own. He pushed the idea away, choosing to congratulate himself on the moment of altruism towards his entourage.

To his disgust, it was actually pretty fun. Despite initial resistance, he fell further and further into his character, a nigh-indestructable warrior and cunning strategiest named O’Lykeau. Andrew was the dungeon master, and he seemed to enjoy making them sit through long, flowery descriptions of each location. Jonathan was an elf mage -- the tall kind of elf -- who Warren encouraged to focus on healing stuff, so he could take care of the fighting. It was almost like what Buffy Summers did, Warren realized as he slashed through a pack of angry zombie-werewolf hybrids. 

But just as the game was getting interesting -- a roaming band of orcs had taken hold in the local orphanage -- Jonathan clambered up and declared he had to leave.

“It’s barely ten,” Warren said, not bothering to hide the disgust in his voice.

“And you guys haven’t even found Apollonia’s gem yet,” Andrew whined. “Please, Jonathan, I spent all week getting the Maze of Zakynthos ready.” 

“I have a robotics competition at nine,” Jonathan said, folding his enormous fantasy map with careful precision. “Help me pick this up, and make sure you don’t lose the dice, they’re-”

“‘Special edition from Comic-Con San Diego 1996,’” Warren rattled off, having heard Jonathan describe this particular pair of super-ultra-valuable-rare dice more times than he cared to admit.

“Yes! And if I lose them, you’re paying for a new set,” Jonathan said, and Warren had to laugh at the sight of the other teen threatening him a full head below his eyes. 

“Sure, if you can-” he started, before Andrew cut him off, shaking the dice in his hand. 

“They’re right here, Jon,” he said, passing them over. “Safe and sound.” 

Jonathan smiled, looking relieved. “Thanks, Andy,” he said. He carefully placed them into a small velvet sac, then zipped it inside the front pocket of his backpack. “They just mean a lot to me.”

“I know,” Andrew said. “They’re really nice, sorta like Apollonia’s gem but, like, real.” 

“Exactly,” Jonathan said, before starting up the stairs. “I really have to go. I’ll see you guys on Monday.” 

The three of them exchanged a chorus of goodbyes, the door clicked shut, and Warren realized he was alone, in his basement, with Andrew Wells. 

They’d never really spent much time together, just the two of them. It was plus Jonathan, universally. They were a trio, a proper entourage, and Warren wasn’t exactly keen to downgrade. Besides, adding him to the gang was practically involuntary, the one concession he’d granted Jonathan. It had been weeks before he’d even truly acknowledged that Andrew was one of them. 

An awkward silence settled over the room after Jonathan’s exit, and Warren began wondering how he could convince Andrew that he’d better follow suit. Maybe he could fake-

“I saw you have the boxed collection of Quantum Leap,” Andrew said, and Warren tore back to reality, welcomed by the stupidly excited tone of Andrew’s question. 

“Yeah,” Warren said, cautious, moving over to his shelf and pulling out the tape. “You a fan? Cause I could break out the tapes.” A TV marathon! Why hadn’t he thought of that? It was perfect: it meant no talking, plus a chance to rewatch his favorite show. It was so brilliant that Warren was sure he _would_ have thought of it soon enough. Definitely. 

“Totally,” Andrew said, throwing himself down on the couch with the kind of comfort it’d taken Jonathan weeks to develop. “But only if we watch-”

“Season three,” they said in unison. Warren looked up from the VCR, shocked. He hadn’t expected good taste out of the kid.

“It’s the best one by a mile,” Andrew said, and Warren nodded. “I’ve been trying to get Jonathan to watch it with me, but he’s a total scaredy-cat, no offense.” 

Warren’s mind briefly stuttered over a high school sophomore unironically calling someone a scaredy-cat, but before he could reply, Andrew was already off on some new topic. While Warren finished navigating to the proper episode and hitting play, Andrew rattled off Quantum Leap statistics and behind-the-scenes tidbits. Warren caught some sentences about Scott Bakula’s career in commercials, but for most of it, he just tuned Andrew out. There was something comforting about his voice, even if Warren wasn’t paying attention. He almost enjoyed the sensation of hearing it without listening, just feeling Andrew’s presence. 

Finally, he hit play and settled back on the sofa, taking to the far end while Andrew laid down, his feet brushing against Warren’s lap. Andrew stayed quiet through the theme song, eagerly mouthing along to the lyrics, and Warren wondered if he’d finally found the key to a silent Andrew: a show he liked too much to miss by chattering over it. But as soon as the episode properly started-

“So, any plans for Christmas break?” Andrew asked, and Warren grinned.

“Oh, just the usual. Sleep, work on my programs,” Warren said. “And I’m going skating with Katrina,” he added, in his perfected bragging-but-not tone. He wasn’t trying to show off to Andrew, after all. He was just being honest. 

“So are you guys, like, dating?” Andrew asked, the question full of insecurity, doubt, and a hint of wistfulness. Warren leaned back and took another sip of soda, letting the moment play out. 

“Not yet, not exactly. But we’ve- well, maybe I shouldn’t tell,” Warren said, pulling back just when he knew Andrew would be curious. 

“Warren,” Andrew said, and he smiled, relishing the note of pleading in his voice. “You can tell me, I’m really good at keeping secrets.”

“Alright,” Warren said, acting like he wasn’t planning on telling from the beginning. “We kissed in the computer lab. After class.”

“At school?” Andrew said, astounded, like the thought of kissing had hardly ever crossed his mind, much less kissing in public. 

“At school,” Warren confirmed. He went over the memory in his mind for the millionth time: the two of them, leaning against the wall, how she’d giggled and held his hand all the way to his bike. Recounting the story gave him nearly as much pleasure as the initial event had. And here was the real reason he tolerated Andrew: the only person the third dorkiest guy in Sunnydale could show off to was the first dorkiest guy in Sunnydale.

“You’re so cool,” Andrew said, his eyes wide, almost adoring, and Warren grinned. 

“It’s nothing, really,” Warren said, playing up his supposed modesty. “Check back in after break. Might have more to tell then,” he added, though so far he’d only dared to hope for a repeat act. 

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” Andrew said, and he didn’t seemed ashamed, the way Warren had been for so long, before Katrina had sent him a second look. Rather, it was factual, with just a hint of daydream. 

He didn’t _know_ to be ashamed, Warren realized, suddenly, had never learned the rules of high school the way him and Jonathan had, never had them bored into him by an educational career chock full of bullies and teen movies telling him exactly what he didn’t have. Sure, they’d tried, but he’d simply floated on his own plane, cheerfully wearing his Star Trek backpack and reading comics at lunch.

Warren was almost jealous.

“What’s it like?” Andrew said. “Kissing, I mean,” he added, and Warren realized he’d never replied. He’d gotten stuck staring at the peculiar boy sitting a very short distance away from him.

“It’s- it’s sort of like-” Warren fumbled for words, still thrown off, struggling to explain. “I could show you,” he blurted out, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

Andrew sat up, and now Warren could see his eyes, and he didn’t even have the gall to look upset, or to sock Warren. He just looked confused, like he was just the slightest bit more shocked at hearing the words than Warren had been from saying them. “What?” he asked, like he was clarifying some obscure detail rather than feeling out a proposition. 

Warren scrambled to recover. “You know, just as practice. I mean, first kisses are, like, always terrible, so you should just get it over with. And then you’ll know, and you’ll have done it, and so when you do get a girlfriend you won’t totally spazz out,” he said, the words rushing out of him, and damn, that sounded pretty good, didn’t it? 

“Yeah,” Andrew said. “That makes sense. Okay, go ahead,” he said, and Warren’s brain short-circuited entirely. Throughout the conversation, he’d been in recovery mode, not thinking about the implications of his words, and now it struck him like a freight train. He was going to have to _kiss_ Andrew. Andrew was _expecting_ it now. There was no way to extract himself from the situation that didn’t involve Andrew getting pissed off and maybe even ditching Warren, taking Jonathan with him. But maybe if he pushed back hard enough, he could make Andrew think it was his idea, and he’d be embarrassed, and they could just forget about the situation. Desperately attempting to round up enough fury to lash out, Warren kept trying to force feelings of disgust, some sense of revulsion at the idea of kissing his male, sort-of best friend. But he just couldn’t. Instead, something that felt sickeningly like excitement bubbled up in his chest, a weird, mutant cousin of what he’d felt upon kissing Katrina. 

But Warren lived by a simple creed: fake it til you make it. He swallowed, decided that the moment called for a confident teacher, and cast himself in the role. He was like the Mr. Miyagi of kissing, the generous, detached mentor figure. 

“Okay,” Warren said, trying to remember exactly what him and Katrina had done that afternoon. “Um, close your eyes,” he instructed, though that particular factoid had come out of one of his mother’s magazines rather than his own experience, not that he’d ever tell Andrew that. He watched Andrew nod and follow -- he was so damn _trusting_ \-- and Warren had never really noticed how long his eyelashes were, had he? They were blonde, so usually Warren could barely see them, and regardless, he’d never before paid attention. But at this distance, they came into sharp focus, along with the smattering of freckles along his nose and the curve of his eyebrows. Warren bit his lip and willed himself to concentrate. “And then I’ll…” 

He brought a hand up to cup Andrew’s jaw, feeling the smooth skin under his fingers. “You’re so soft,” he commented, the words unbidden. 

Andrew smiled. “I have a very complex-” 

“Shut up,” Warren said, without malice. “If you’re talking I can’t-” he trailed off, the word 'kiss' seeming much too big for the room. 

“Alright, alright,” Andrew said. “I’m sorry,” he said, still grinning.

And then they were both silent, and Warren could hear his breathing, and blood pounding in his ears, and then he was leaning forward, and then he was kissing Andrew. 

He tasted warm, and sweet, and like the popcorn they’d had earlier, and his lips weren’t as soft as Katrina’s but Warren found he didn’t mind. 

After a long minute, he pulled away, letting his hand slip from Andrew’s face. Warren reopened his eyes, and a few seconds later, Andrew did the same. Warren looked down, away from Andrew, a sense of shame prickling at him for how much he'd enjoyed it. 

“You lied,” Andrew said, cheerfully, and Warren brought his eyes back up, catching the full force of Andrew’s smile.

“About what?” Warren said, and he was just an objective tutor, it was supposed to feel good, it was _kissing_ , even if it was Andrew-

“You said the first time is always terrible,” Andrew said. “That wasn’t terrible at all.” And Warren, in spite of his better judgement, laughed. 

“Makes sense, considering I’m an excellent teacher,” Warren said, and somehow his fingers had looped into Andrew’s. 

“You’re like Obi-Wan,” Andrew said. “And that makes me Luke Skywalker.”  
“I’m the Obi-Wan of ki-” Warren froze, the introduction of the K-word pushing the reality of the situation back to him. “I’m not a homo, though,” he said, hurriedly, saying it for himself as much as Andrew. 

“Oh,” Andrew said, drawing back a bit. “I know. Um, me neither.” And Warren decided to believe him, because if neither one of them was actually queer, then it wasn’t real, it was just a thing, not a Thing. 

“I was just showing you, so you’d know,” Warren said.

“Right,” Andrew said. “You’re a good friend.”

Warren nodded. “Totally.” Glimpsing the TV, he grabbed the remote and upped the volume, returning his attention to the long-abandoned episode. He identified it as a respite from the total awkwardness that had settled over the two of them after their mutual insistence on heterosexuality. Warren stretched out, feeling a need to occupy as much space as possible. As the episode began playing anew, he felt a warm weight settle into his side. Looking down, he saw Andrew, curled up and pressed against him.

His first instinct was to push him off, tell him to scram and go be a homo somewhere else. But his second instinct was to keep him there, close. And heroes always followed their instincts. 

Warren circled an arm around Andrew, and Andrew fell in, curling even closer. Contentment practically radiated off of Andrew, and Warren couldn’t keep a smile from tweaking at the corners of his cheeks. He leaned down to press a kiss into Andrew’s hair, relishing the small sigh the other teen let out when he did.

He settled into the sofa and decided he’d let Andrew stay, just for a few hours.

His eyes drifted to the TV, to the adventures of Sam Beckett and his many charges, and he wondered if, later, Andrew might be up for a lesson two.


End file.
